


must love pie

by Magali_Dragon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Meet-Cute, Pie, Strangers to Lovers, Thanksgiving, a twist on the there's only one bed trope, happy thanksgiving so here's some pie, there's only one pie!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:07:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27725927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magali_Dragon/pseuds/Magali_Dragon
Summary: Alone in King's Landing on Thanks Day, Jon Snow goes to get a pie from the bakery when Daenerys Targaryen arrives for the same thing, resulting in a showdown and ultimately a sweet way to celebrate the holiday.  Extra sweet.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 66
Kudos: 309





	must love pie

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Thanksgiving! Here's some absolutely sweetness to rot your teeth.

* * *

“I don’t like the idea of you being alone on Thanks Day.”

Jon rolled his eyes at the fretful concern on the other end of his phone, catching the attention of an older woman walking towards him, a rose on her wool coat. She winked obviously at him and he got the distinct impression she was about to pinch his arse, judging by how her hand—bejeweled with numerous rings—moved down to her side, right in line with his backside. He skirted her carefully, politely smiling, and she scowled at him, before getting into a black town car parked on the curb. He chuckled, but unfortunately avoiding a lecherous old lady meant he hadn’t been listening to his favorite cousin and sort-of sister, who shouted in the phone at him.

“Jon! Are you listening to me?”

“Not really, no,” he replied truthfully, splashing his boots into a dirty puddle of water on the sidewalk. He’d have to shine them later, but he liked it. He knew he was getting odd looks from the passersby for his Northern military uniform; it was usually quite hot in King’s Landing but seemed this time he was in town for war games with the Dornish brigades and the other Westerosi military it was thankfully chillier.

Even so, the black fatigues, with his black combat boots and the black beret with its single black shield pinned on the edge drew some curious looks. Not often they saw someone in the Night’s Watch, he gathered. He wondered where this bloody bakery happened to be, silently cursing Arya for _demanding_ he go there to get himself at the very least a piece of pumpkin pie for Feast Day. Then he could tell her if it was worth visiting the next time, she came to King’s Landing so she could mark it off all the various cookie, cupcake, cake, and pie places of Westeros which she wanted to eat her way through before her boyfriend.

Odd bucket list, but Arya was rather odd, which was why she was throwing such a fit over his aloneness that holiday. “Arya, you never cared before, you hate Thanks Day.”

“Well maybe I’m softening in my old age.”

He snorted. “Sure, didn’t you try to stab Edmure last time he visited?”

“And I’ll succeed this time,” she threatened. She laughed. “Or I’ll push Sansa off a parapet. She arrived this morning, is already trying to get me to sign her bloody petition to secede from Westeros, not like we don’t already have our own Parliament and military, she wants us to become our own country. Weirdo.”

“Aye, she is.” He huffed, frustrated. “Arya, I give up. Fuck this place. It’s just pie.”

“Yes, but you need to tell me if it’s good.”

“Arya!” If he didn’t love her as much as he did, he would just give up and return to his hotel. His shitty, crappy hotel because the army couldn’t be bothered to pay for anything beyond running water and a bed. Didn’t matter if the water was cold and the bed as hard and lumpy as a bag of rocks. He also would never tell her, but he didn’t mind pie, and what would be Thanks Day without pie?

Arya softened, quiet. “Jon, I know you don’t care about being alone and all, but it’s Thanks Day. It’s a family thing and I don’t know, maybe I’m getting soft in my old age” – she ignored his snort – “but just please do this for your favorite little sister? Please?”

“My only little sister.”

She laughed, hard and loud. “Ha! What about Sansa?”

“Sansa’s my cousin, you’re my little sister.” He sighed, turning a corner, and stopped, relieved. He gazed at the sign, old fashioned neon proclaiming ‘Hot Pie’s!’ “Thank the bloody gods, I found it.”

“Yes! Get the pie and take it home and make sure you save it until tomorrow.”

“Yes mother.”

“Fuck off.”

“Love you too,” he chuckled, disconnecting after she wished him ‘Happy Thanks Day.’ He sighed, shaking his head, amused at the lengths he would go for her. He shoved his hands into his pockets and stepped off the curb, walking over towards the door. It was pretty empty from the outside, but it smelled really good as he approached, like sugar and fruit and warm bread.

Thanks Day was only a fun holiday because he liked the food, but because it wasn’t necessarily a day he could easily get away for, he tended to work on it. Hence his decision to come south as the Night’s Watch rep to the war games that were going on and only taking a break for everyone to stuff their faces with turkey and stuffing and pie. Tomorrow was going to be interesting when everyone returned, still in tryptophan comas while trying to play out a potential invasion from air and sea.

He wished he was back up North, he thought longingly. He missed Ghost, his fluffy white wolf-dog and his bed that actually conformed to his spine. The upside of not being in the North for Thanks Day meant that he didn’t have to endure his aunt’s sneers or Sansa’s general existence. He would just treat it like a day, go on a run maybe, read or catch up on some show that Arya was obsessed with called _The Steel Throne_ and he supposed, after he purchased it, he’d eat some of this famous pie.

A bell above the door tinkled when he pushed it open, finding that indeed the place was empty, chairs even turned up onto tables. He stepped backwards and checked the door. It was open for another fifteen minutes. _Guess I caught it at the right time._ He walked in and studied what was left in the glass fronted displays, which wasn’t really much.

There were a few meat pies left, a couple of lemon, and one pecan. Not one of which appealed to him. He walked around the edge, hands still dug in his pockets, glancing up when he heard someone ask if he needed anything. “Just looking,” he said.

“We close in fifteen,” the jovial, round-faced curly-haired man in the apron said behind the counter, wiping his hands on a towel. He pointed to Jon’s beret. “Oh wow, you’re Night’s Watch? That’s so cool! I’ve never met anyone from the Night’s Watch.” He puffed his chest. “Thought about it myself once. But I like baking more than fighting.”

Jon smiled politely; everyone said they wanted to be in the Night’s Watch. It wasn’t an easy place to get to, not like how it used to be, a dumping ground for criminals and bastards and unwanted people. “We don’t really do much fighting,” he said politely. It was mostly subterfuge and other sneaky shit.

“Well I’m Hot Pie.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jon said, eyes landing on half of a pumpkin pie. It was more than enough for him. He’d pair it with the YiTish food he also planned on getting. He made a note of it and scanned a few more items in the display, chuckling at the sticky buns in the shape of dogs.

The bell above the door clanged, rather than tinkled, a blur of silver and red entering the shop. He stepped aside automatically, lest the woman crash right into him, she was moving so quickly. He blinked at the sight of her, unsure if maybe there had been something in his coffee from earlier. Or maybe he was really tired. He definitely wasn’t drunk. Could be he was having a hallucination.

A woman with silver hair and a red coat, who was tiny even on tottering high heels, had marched right over to the counter. Except it wasn’t her silver hair or the flame red coat she wore that had him double-taking. It was the turkey costume she was also wearing, including a hood over her head that had fake orange and yellow felt feathers and a beak on it and a red waddle. She turned her face to him, smile beaming wide, and he noted her eyes were purple, to add to the chaos.

She chirped. “Happy Early Thanks Day.”

Hot Pie was equally bowled over. “Um, hello.”

“You’re still open? Yes?” Her accent was soft, very different from the Northern burr. He put it as maybe Valyrian. She laughed. “I _ran_ all the way over here from my school to make sure I got here in time.” Without prompting, she smiled again at him, pointing up to her turkey hood. “It was the school Thanks Day pageant, and I was the turkey.” She laughed. “Don’t worry though, they didn’t chop off my head and serve me up, although I’m sure some of my students wouldn’t mind doing that. Or their parents.”

Jon had not even said one word to her, but he already knew she was a teacher, and she was willing to dress up as a turkey and she was sweet and friendly, and she liked to project power—otherwise she wouldn’t be wearing such high heels with her height—or maybe she just liked them. Either way, he gazed down at her, finding himself smiling. “I can’t imagine students wanting to go after a teacher who dresses as a turkey,” he said. He was not good at flirting. _At all._

Robb, his cousin, would probably already have her phone number, but he was just getting warm under his collar. He reached to loosen it a bit and tugged off his beret, which he’d been remiss to do entering the building, as was protocol. The movement dislodged his bun, which he’d had to tug his hair into to keep with the uniform rules It drew the turkey’s attention, eyes widening. “Oh wow, Night’s Watch. Very cool.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled. He looked at the display and Hot Pie moved forward. He pointed to the pumpkin pie, at the same time the turkey pointed to it.

They said in unison: “I’ll take that.”

Hot Pie flicked his gaze from one to the other. He pointed to the pie. “There’s only one left.”

“And I’ll take it,” Jon said.

The turkey shook her head. “Nope, that’s mine.”

“Um…” Hot Pie waved his finger between each of them. “Maybe you can…” He desperately pleaded. “Figure it out? Please?”

Jon turned his attention fully to the turkey. The really cute turkey. The really cute turkey with the violet eyes and the silver hair and the smile that caused her eyes to disappear behind her rosy cheeks. She leaned on one of her heels, hands going to her trip waist, just above the slight flare of her hips, evident even in the brown sack-like bag she wore with the hoodie. “Well Mr…” She dropped her violet eyes to his last name, stamped and sewn above the left breast pocket. “Snow.”

“It’s Jon.”

“Okay Jon Snow,” she said, still chipper. She lifted her brows. “I really wanted to try out this famous pie this year and so I couldn’t get away in time and had to race across town to get here dressed in a turkey costume. A _turkey_ , Jon Snow. Do you know how silly that meant I looked? Also,” she smiled, simpering. “I’m seriously alone this year. All alone. With my three cats. Alone. That pie is the only thing I want this year for this holiday. So, I need that pie.”

He would have happily given it to her, but the blatant attempt to flirt it out of him, well, now he wanted to play. Plus the resorting to guilting him into giving it to her. So juvenile. He narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s funny Ms…” he began.

“Dany, call me Dany.”

“Okay Dany.” He wondered if that was her real name or a fake one. She was still smiling, although no longer as sweetly as she had before. There was an edge to it now. He narrowed his eyes. “I’m all alone too this holiday. So I do not sympathize. Now, I need that pie because I promised my…” He thought of Arya, shrugging. “Rather mental cousin that I would get the pie for her. She worries for me.”

She was not moved either. “That’s sweet, really, but at least you have family.” Her voice hardened. “I don’t have any. Just my cats.”

“Being a crazy cat lady is not going to get you that pie.”

Her mouth dropped. “Crazy cat lady!?” She scoffed. “And what makes you think that I’m crazy? I’m certainly not!”

“You’re wearing a turkey costume.” This should have been enough to justify his thoughts on the matter.

Dany rolled her eyes. “I’m a primary school teacher. It was the school pageant. Besides, if we’re holding dress to the standard of sanity levels, you are automatically mad, for who else joins the Night’s Watch?”

 _Well shit, she had him on that one._ He shrugged. “I wanted to serve the North. It’s a family tradition.”

“And yet you are not with them?”

“Because I’m here, alone, in this horrible capitol rather than the North, for work and so you see, I need that pie.”

She pursed her lips sweetly. “Forgive me, I am not sympathetic.”

“Well we are at an impasse then, Your Grace,” he teased, for she was behaving rather queenly at the moment.

They stared at each other a moment; he noted the flecks of gold in her violet eyes. She was gorgeous, more so than one should be in a turkey costume. He shifted, trying not to let it sway him to give her the damn pie. It really didn’t matter. He shrugged. “Why can’t we just split it in half?” he suggested.

Her lips twitched. She glanced sideways to the pie, which Hot Pie had removed and set atop the counter, taunting them. She shrugged. “It would be a shame to ruin the aesthetic of the pie by well, ripping it apart.” She swayed side-to-side. Jon worried momentarily; it was clear an idea happened to be spinning away in her mind. He wasn’t sure of this one.

He could resort to flirting. The notion of that, if anyone else knew, would have caused them to fall to the floor in peals of laughter. He was terrible at flirting. So he just did what he always did. “Just give me the pie,” he said. He shrugged. “Take pity on a soldier alone from his family on a holiday meant for families.”

Her lip quirked up. “Well take pity on the one who has no family to share with.”

They both stared at each other another moment. He shrugged again. “Yes, but you have friends.”

“Otherwise engaged.”

“Your cats.” He made a face, which wasn’t an act, as he really missed Ghost. “I usually spend this day with my dog Ghost and he’s thousands and thousands of miles away.”

A crack appeared in her dragon armor; she flinched. _Aha! She really is a cat lady, probably an obsessive pet owner_ , in a way like him, he imagined. She hesitated and then shook her head hard. “No, nope. My pie.”

“I got here first!”

“You’re resorting to that argument?”

“It’s not an argument so much as fact.”

The back and forth had caused his skin to heat, heart to thud quicker against his ribs. He wished he wasn’t in his bloody uniform. Even the fatigues were fleece-lined. He dropped his arms to his sides, sighing. They were at an impasse. She smiled again, cocking her head. “Tell you what.” She licked her lips; he did not like how his stomach jumped in his abdomen. Along with another part of his anatomy. She hiked her bag strap higher on her shoulder. “You get the pie.”

 _Yes!_ He was about to exclaim his success, but she held up her finger. He snapped his mouth shut, scowling. “What?”

“You get the pie and…” She arched a brow and smirked. “Bring it to my house. We can share it and well, not be…” She faltered. “Alone. This holiday.”

The idea was very appealing, but…he lifted his brows, confused. “You’d invite a total stranger to your house on Thanks Day just to get a pie?”

“Well I feel that if anyone can stand up to me as long as you have, I’d like to get to know them a little more,” she said, her curious eyes twinkling. He swallowed hard. She stepped towards him and flicked her finger over the insignia above the strip of fabric that said “N.ARMY.” “And you are a military man. Night’s Watch even. Northerner. You all live by a strict code, do you not? You’ll keep your word.”

 _Bloody seven hells_. She had him on that one. “Words lose meaning if you do not keep them,” he said quietly. It was something his uncle had drilled into him from a young age. He cocked his head, curious still. “But even so, I could be a serial killer.”

“You’re Night’s Watch, you are a killer.” She said it so matter-of-fact, he made a sound, strangled in his throat. She shrugged. “But I can take care of myself. Besides, it’s that code thing again.”

He smirked. “Well, what about me? I mean, _you_ could be a mass murderer.”

“I could, but I think you can handle yourself against me.” She shrugged. “So what do you say? You get the pie, you bring it to my place, we split it and we’re not alone on Thanks Day.” She chuckled. “Unless you have an aversion to three very bitchy cats.”

While he would prefer Ghost, he didn’t _hate_ cats. He reached into his pocket and removed his phone, pulling up his contacts. She grinned and he handed it to her, for her to enter her information. She typed in everything and passed it back. Jon didn’t know areas of King’s Landing, but he recognized the street she lived on, his brows arching. “Visenya’s Hill Landing?” he murmured.

She twitched her lips. “See you at noon?”

He nodded, surprising himself to agreeing to this odd arrangement. He paid for the pie, Hot Pie relieved to be rid of them no doubt, as he slammed the door and flicked the lock loudly behind them when they walked out onto the sidewalk. He glanced at the turkey lady, who had closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sky, taking a deep breath. He wondered why; King’s Landing smelled like shit at all times. He held the pie box carefully in his hands and smiled softly at her when she finished whatever she was doing. “Tomorrow?” he confirmed.

The sly grin tugged on her lips and she nodded. “Tomorrow. Jon Snow,” she murmured.

“Dany.” He chuckled. “Should I get your last name so I can make a note in case I go missing? That way they can figure out where my body happens to be?”

Dany laughed. “Targaryen. Dany Targaryen. I’ll see you at noon Lieutenant Colonel Snow.”

That was something; she recognized the twin silver weirwood leaves pinned on his lapels. He remained in place and watched her walk off; skip rather, in her crazy high heels with her turkey hood bouncing on her back, silver braids escaping. He waited another moment before his eyes widened in realization.

_Targaryen._

“Oh fuck,” he mumbled, feeling horrible for joking about her being alone that holiday. He swallowed hard and turned away, walking back down the street and fumbling with his phone, pausing long enough to send a text to Arya.

_You won’t believe who I’m having pie with tomorrow._

His phone pinged. _Is that a euphemism you disgusting perve? :P_

He rolled his eyes. Never mind Arya. He’d have to tell her tomorrow.

* * *

The terrace house was as expected in the particular neighborhood the cab dropped him off in, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out which one belonged to Dany Targaryen. Or rather, Daenerys Targaryen, as he knew her full name happened to be. Among the row of houses, four stories each, narrow with wrought iron fences and stone steps up to the black front doors, only one had leaf garlands around the stair banisters, pumpkins scattered along the steps, and a giant turkey wreath on the door.

Jon loosened the collar on his neck; he’d forgone military dress for a black sweater and jeans and boots. He jogged up the steps and knocked, holding the pie box in his hand. The door swung open and of course, the sprite on the other side of the stairs was wearing what was rather festive attire. “Happy Thanks Day!” Dany exclaimed. She wore bright red sparkling tights, black combat boots, a brown skirt and orange sweater, and a headband with the same felt-like turkey feathers as her hoodie from the day before. Bright orange pumpkin earrings hung at her lobes and she also had a huge black cat in her arms, wearing an orange tinsel collar.

The cat looked ready to _murder_. Two more flitted around her ankles, in matching tinsel collars. “Happy Thanks Day,” he chuckled nervously and stepped into the house. He thrust the pie to her. “Here you go.”

“Excellent!” She smirked. “You’ll find I hid all the knives, and my cats will eat your face if you try to hurt me.”

“I don’t doubt it.” All three of the cats peered at him, distrusting.

Jon followed her through the house; it was as eclectic as she happened to be. He accepted the mug of some spiced beverage, steaming hot, she thrust at him, without word. He didn’t think he had a choice in the matter. He nodded to the pie. “Hopefully it’s still good. The Night’s Watch doesn’t give us the best accommodations. I don’t know if the hotel fridge was cold enough.”

“Oh it’s fine, I’m sure.” She plated the pie easily and carried it out of the large kitchen through a set of double doors onto a patio, which had been set up with a bistro table with two small place settings, overlooking a rather large yard, landscaped with a dragon topiary and several trees, their leaves orange and red, falling in piles along the ground. The cats escaped. “Drogon!” she called. “You be good. No running off now. Viserion, I’ll not have you digging and Rhaegal, if you think of getting in that tree, you’re on your own!”

_Maybe she is a crazy cat lady._

He took his seat, and she took hers. They smiled awkwardly at each other. He licked his lips, hesitating and then pushed forward; she could kick him out if she wanted. “I am sorry about your brother,” he murmured.

Dany chuckled, her smile dropping to a grimace. “Yes, well…I figured you’d look me up when you heard my name.” She sighed, looking at the pie. She reached for the pie spatula, cutting it carefully. “We always had Hot Pie’s pumpkin pie. I almost forgot this year, that’s why I was in such a hurry yesterday.”

Well he felt like a shit. And he only wanted it because Arya wanted to know if it was worth visiting on her gastronomy tour of Westeros. He hesitated and lifted up the mug of the spiced wine—he figured it was at least—to her. “To your brother.”

“Rhaegar,” she murmured, lifting her mug in salute. She took a sip and sighed, smiling at the cats leaping around the backyard. She chuckled. “Well, shall we?”

“Why didn’t you tell me about your brother yesterday? I’d have let you had the pie.”

Her brow arched, eyes twinkling again, and she handed him his plate, with the piece of pie centered perfectly upon it. He took it without word, setting it before him. “Well Jon Snow, if I had done that, it would not have been a very fun argument, now would it and well…” She picked up her fork, and he mirrored her. She reached it over as did he, tapping it to his with a light clink. “We would not be here enjoying each other’s company, now would we?”

That was a way to look at it. He found himself grinning and nodded. “Aye. True.”

“Now, let’s eat our pie and you can regale me with stories of this mental cousin of yours that apparently made you fight for a pumpkin pie.”

“Mental might not be the best way to describe her.”

“So tell me.”

They spoke for hours, laughing and making their way through the pie—which was actually so fucking good Jon had to take a moment to text Arya about it midway through his second slice—along with copious amounts of the mulled wine she’d prepared. Time passed quickly, they did not even realize, until the sun had gone down and the lights in her garden kicked on, twinkling like fairies in the trees and bushes.

They were wrapped up in blankets, on one of her outdoor couches, a fire pit blazing in front of them, and boots off, laughing at something she’d told him about her brother—speaking about the dead was actually better than hiding them away, he told her, having known a lot about that sadly—when he felt the oddest urge inside of him. Propelled by pie, wine, and well, _her_ , Jon leaned forward and pressed his lips lightly against hers.

Dany returned the kiss, soft and sweet, neither saying a word. They chuckled, awkward, nervous, but then she whispered: “I was wondering when you were going to do that.”

“I’m not good with this thing,” he admitted.

She reached for the front of his sweater, bringing him closer to her. “I think you’re better than you think you are.”

Jon laughed, kissing her again, and making a note to thank Arya for forcing him to go get pie. And also giving thanks for well, pie, because this was definitely the best Thanks Day he’d ever had, as Dany climbed across his knee to wrap around him.


End file.
